Curtain Call
by Radioactive Raven
Summary: A glimpse into past Hunger Games.
1. Accuracy

The bandage served no purpose. She can't be saved. After all this time, after getting so close, his efforts were for nothing. He could not save this little girl. Try and try again, he could attempt to protect her, but alas, the result was always the same.

Death.

At just twelve years old. Murtaugh tried to remember what life was like when he was twelve. He did not remember much, just that it had been a good year of his existence. He'd done well in school and learned how to properly handle a bow. That was four years ago. Over those years he had learned to kill, to survive, to show no weakness. He'd learned to shoot anything and everything that moved. He'd volunteered for the Hunger Games after his little sister was chosen, intending to save her and in the end, when they were the final two, sacrifice himself so that Ella could live. But intentions never are final. Death is.

Now Murtaugh sits with his sister's dented, bloody head in his lap. She clutches his hand tightly, not wanting to slip away. Out of the corner of his eye, Murtaugh sees. The brutish boy from 2, running with long knife in hand. Only the three of them left. Soon there would be only two. Then one.

"Murtaugh," Ella croaks, blood spilling from the corners of her jaw as she opens her mouth to speak. Murtaugh can't stand seeing his sister in this much pain.

"What is it?" He asks quietly, glancing over his shoulder. The boy is getting closer.

"Go home" Ella tells him.  
"I can't," Murtaugh begins to panic.  
"You can. Don't miss, Murtaugh. Promise me you won't miss, Murtaugh"

Then Ella lets go. The boy is approaching. Murtaugh wallows in pain for one second, two. Then he turns and readies his bow. He strings it and sets his arrow in place.

Murtaugh takes aim.


	2. The Dark Horse

Oleander Simmons was a favorite to win the 16th Hunger Games. You would be a fool _not_ to bet on the charming boy from District 2.

He volunteers with confidence, with pride. He scores a perfect 12 on his Training—something that rarely ever happens within a Games. In his interview he captures the nation of Panem by announcing his admiration of the Capitol and more specifically the _females_ from the Capitol. This in turn also wins him their hearts and a giant mega-fan club. The men like him because he's capable, good-looking and will provide lots of sport. His exact words in his interview were, "I'll put up a good for show for you all". Which was delivered with a dark grin and followed by lots of cheers from audience members.

Anders still bears that grin as he appears on his platform, surrounded by the other 23 tributes. The arena this year is an abandoned looking cityscape, tall buildings that appear as if they're about to crumble to dust. They touch the sky, where black storm clouds swirl and lightning flashes. There is rain. The gong sounds and all 24 tributes race around in different directions—some forwards towards the Cornucopia, others straight into the streets and buildings that surround them. Others hesitate and pivot one way before turning in the opposite direction.

Anders is one of the tributes who move forward. He is smiling as he dashes forward gracefully, eyes set on a pair of twin swords that lay 10 yards in front of him. His hand just grips around the handle before an arrow enters his neck. And the boy from District 2 keels over, gasps for air, and dies. Just like that.

The cameras freeze on this image, as if they are just as shocked as the rest of the nation but now flash away from Anders' dead body to his killer. A girl of about 15 has her bow raised in position. She is not smiling but she is happy.

In this moment everyone tries to recall this girl. Who she was, what district she came from. But no one can relocate any significant memories of her. Perhaps they remember her short red hair or that she came from one of the middle districts, five or six. But nothing else. She is a nobody. And now she has guaranteed herself stardom. She has just labeled herself the "Tribute Who Killed Oleander Simms".

And that is how she is remembered as a victor. For the rest of the time in the Games, she only kills one other tribute. She only reappears when the other remaining tribute has been crushed over a fallen building and begs for mercy. And she finishes him with an arrow in the head.


	3. Dawn

The gong sounds and I leap forward, drop into a shoulder role and grab the knapsack that lies in front of me. Next to this is a small bottle of iodine and a packet of dried fruit and I scoop that up too. Better not leave it behind, I think. I swing the bag over my shoulder and survey my surroundings. One or two tributes lay dead on the ground, while others engage in what will be fatal fights. These items I've picked up seem to be worth my time. Maybe a weapon would do me good, but I don't know how to use anything save for a slingshot, which I don't see anywhere close by. I'm amazed that no one's bothered me at all. _This will be easier than I thought!_

I hear the whistle of a blade and I fall back just in time to dodge the slash of a razor tipped sword. The owner of it stands above me, smiling menacingly and giving me a quick wink before raising the blade up again. It's the crazy girl from District 2. I roll out of the way in the nick of time and scrabble to my feet, running as fast as I can towards the open prairie, away from the bloodbath and the danger. I hear her laugh from over my shoulder and I know she's pursing me. Oh god—I'm going to die. I can run fast but I know she's just as good. I'm perfectly defenseless and it's obvious to her now too. Tears begin to pour down my cheeks and all I can think is _how could I have been so stupid? _

"_Come back Keavy! I promise I'll make it quick!" _She giggles, gaining on me. I make the mistake of glancing behind and trip, plummeting down into the grass. A cold metal is brought to my throat and before I know it the girl sits on top of me like I'm a cushion or bag of meat, smiling down at me sweetly. "But then again, I've always been a _known_ liar."

I gasp in pain as I feel the tip of the sword drawn across my neck, beginning to cut into my flesh. I continue to cry as blood begins to seep out of the wound and crazy girl's eyes widen as if she's a toddler who's just discovered a little lost puppy. Something inside me urges to fight back, but the pain overtakes it and I close my eyes, so I won't have to look into the monster's eyes. She runs the blade downward on my neck, opening the cut even further and causing me to whimper even louder. The monster laughs. Then, she stops, abruptly cut off. I feel her weight slump down on top of me and a liquid begins to soak my body. I open my eyes and scream.

The monster now lays dead on top of me, her blood oozing out of a fatal stab on her forehead. I push her off me, still screaming when a hand claps over my mouth and another grabs my waist. I struggle, prepared to bite down on the hand when I hear an urgent whisper in my ear. "_Shh_. Don't alert them any more than you have!"

Relief comes over me first. Then confusion. Then the question _why? Why would you save me?_

His grip loosens and I pull away and turn around to face Boyd. He stands there a bit red in the face, dressed identically to myself. Soft white jacket with a yellow diagonal band across the front and a blue stripe on each sleeve, rather tight white pants, light-weight blue boots and a blue hat. In his right hand he holds a spear, the tip covered in blood. I stand there speechless, while he raises his eyebrow and then lowers his gaze down to my neck. "Use your hat to stop the blood. We need to get moving." He strides forward flawlessly, picking up the girl's sword that now lays at her side. He cleans some of the blood off both the weapons near the grass around her. I force myself to turn away from him and pull my hat off my head, pushing it to the wound on my neck and grimacing through the pain. At least she didn't get too far. I turn again and manage to make out the bloodbath, which seems to still being going on. I think I can even make out some tributes running through the tall prairie grass, away from the scene of the crime. We do need to move. I clear my throat, but when I speak the word comes out in a whisper. "Ready?"

"Nearly. Wait one second." He answers, not even looking at me. He slides the sword under the yellow band of the uniform, where it sticks in place and then digs around in a knapsack of his own. I wonder how he'd got all this and got away so quickly when he pulls something out of the bag and extends it in his hand, to me.

It's a slingshot and a small little pouch. I open it and find it contains about 40 small steel balls. I look at Boyd and he nods slowly.  
"Thank you," I say, louder this time and he nods again, before picking up into a run. I follow him, putting all my energy into it as my brain fades back to a memory. Reaping Day. I hear the escort read the name: "_Boyd Henderson_". A young man who grew up in the orphanage. A boy who gets into fights at school and can beat anyone his age and older in a race. A loner. He doesn't matter to anyone. I watch him stand on the stage and without knowing it his eyes meet mine. I know what my face looks like, relieved and appeased and I lower my head in shame and embarrassment. _He doesn't matter to anyone. _And now he's going to die.

Then I hear "_Keavy Caufield_!" and learn my fate will be the same.

Next is a blur. Practically fainting. A sense of dread. Stepping on to the stage and seeing Boyd's extended hand, an offering of assistance. His cold expression. The crowd gives us an uneasy applause and Boyd leans over and whispers in my ear.

"Good luck."

* * *

I know I haven't updated this in quite a while but I've recently come up with a few ideas and have decided to continue. I've also concluded that I'll stop at either 12 or 24 stories, because I just _love_ to throw some symbolism in there (heavy sarcasm). But no, anyway, this story will be the first of four that I'll do about this Hunger Games with these two characters. The second one should be up this week, but then on Friday I'm going away for a week so they'll be a break. Thanks for reading, if you did, and please leave a review! I appreciate them a lot :)


	4. Morning

12.

12 faces in the sky. More than I thought there'd be, but I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I don't want to look but I find it near impossible to look away. First there's the monster from 2 that Boyd killed. But in her photo she looks like a completely normal girl, and I wonder if maybe she was as much. The games make people crazy, they say. This means that both tributes from 1 survived. Then there are both tributes from 3, Viper and Data. Data was a younger girl while Viper's stylist had his hair dyed purple for his chariot ride. He was a short fuse, anyways, so this just made things worse.

"He was always insulting and criticizing the Capitol. It's no surprise he's gone early." Boyd says knowingly. He sits next to me, hands folded, looking up at the sky with careful eyes. I shiver at the thought that the Capitol would have killed him purposely to silence him forever. Because I believe it. Because I know Boyd is probably right.

I look on. The next tribute we see is the boy from 6, then both from 7. Then Royce and Crewe's faces stare down at me and my head feels heavy on my shoulders. They were supposed to be my allies. They were friends, for a day. I know it's silly and pointless to make friends during the games, but-

"I saw Lukas from Four kill her." Boyd says quietly of Crewe. I swallow and nod and don't ask why. Because in training Lukas had always been smashing dummies with a mace.

I look up quickly to catch the 4 final tributes: the girl from 10, both from 11 and the tough looking girl from 12. The Capitol Seal takes their place and Claudius Templesmith's booming voice echoes through the arena. "Rest up, tributes! You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Good night, sleep tight!"

All is quiet again, save for a harmony of chirping crickets. Boyd and I sit in a small dug out burrow on the side of a hill or dune of some sort. All we've seen so far is rather hilly land covered in tall, whispy strands of grass. A cool, salty breeze passes across my lips as I slowly turn to face Boyd.

"So who's left?" I say quietly, my voice oddly calm. Boyd leans back a little, eyes still staring up at the stars. "The Alpha tributes. They're a big group this year, pretty diverse too. The girl from One with the dumb name is a good archer. She's good looking which will gurantee her some sponsors too. The boy from Two favors the knife. The two from Four-I don't know if the boy is much as a threat of the girl. He's dumb, but strong. She's smart and stealthy. Then they've got Ore from Twelve, the boxer. He's sort of the fan favorite. Then the girl from Six, and I don't really know why they have her."

"Okay-" I feel strange interrupting him, because this is more than he's ever spoken since 'rescuing me'. "That leaves the boy from 1, who isn't in the big group, us, both from 8 . . ."

"And the boy from 10." Boyd finishes. "Prime from 1 was allied with the girl from 8. He ditched the Careers, and if I had to guess would probably be their prime target."

"Is that all, professor?" I smile a little, finding it funny how much he knows. His eyebrows arch together, his lips a thin line. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you sure know a lot about the other tributes," His stern expression is a little intimidating but I find the courage to go on, "You watched them all really well, I guess."

Boyd shrugs. "It's smart to get to know your competition." Is all he says.  
I stare into his dull gray eyes as the wind tickles my nose: "So what's there to know about me?"

He blinks, raising an eyebrow and I realize I've finally surprised him. "You're quick. Good at climbing. But careless. You don't pay enough attention to what's happening in the moment until it's too late."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap, more fiercly than I expected as my right hand balls up in a fist. I discover within the moment that my face is hot and probably bright red, and embarrassed I quickly turn my head away. "Don't answer that" I state swiftly, curling up in the grass and shutting my eyes. I hear Boyd shift in his place and all he says is, "ok", but I think I catch a bit of humor in his tone.

Ugh. I don't even know why I've stuck around. I'll admit it; it's mostly because I'd rather be with Boyd than be by myself. But we'll see how long that's going to last. He'll probably stick with me until we're down to the finale ones and then I'll just be easy prey for him to pick off with his spear.

My thoughts make me curious and I clear my throat. "Boyd." It's the first time I've actually spoken his name and it feels less alien and strange than I thought it would.

"Mhm?"

"Did you kill anyone else at the bloodbath?"

No answer. Second time I've surprised him. Two in one day is pretty impressive.

"I killed Royce." He answers quietly, and I'm grateful I can't see his face.

* * *

**This chapter is called Morning, even though it's night :P Mourning/morning, you understand, hopefully.**  
**Next time we'll be introduced to another character, we'll find out more about Boyd's strategy and about what happened to Keavy's originally planned allies, Crewe and Royce from District 9. **

**Please review, thank you very much for reading!**


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